that without us there
would be less than nothing
here and yet everything
but us would still appear,
and probably (a stretch,
perhaps) a lot more oxygen.
So I keep a pet illusion
near, I have named him
real, but he is only a looking
glass.
By which I mean he is inside himself.
It must make it
hard to breathe.
Ah, but the clock is bent
on precision and turning
this day over. A virtual
subversion of the plot.
-the ambassador
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